


If You Want to Find Out What's Behind These Cold Eyes

by Pthithia



Series: (Practically) Perfect in Every Way [4]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, M/M, Slow Burn, This is my blergh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 18:45:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7280395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pthithia/pseuds/Pthithia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His friends complain he doesn't like to party or drink, that he's boring and uptight. They say it so much it's become common. One thing that's never been considered is what Enjolras feels about this. The ABC trusts him with their lives, and that's not something he's going to take lightly.</p>
<p>They just don't seem to see that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Want to Find Out What's Behind These Cold Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry in advance.

It was going on three weeks since Grantaire last held Enjolras, crying on the couch in the middle of the night over a half-finished dinner. Three weeks since Grantaire began to accompany Enjolras to appointments with Dr. Lamarque. Three weeks since Grantaire suddenly found himself entirely ensconced in Enjolras’ personal life, being trusted with secrets not even Combeferre could know. Grantaire might say he was enjoying being so close to Enjolras, if he didn't know personally the inner termoil Enjolras was hiding from the world.

A party. Just one party, Grantaire had reasoned with Enjolras last night, would not kill him. It would be fun, just a night of relaxing with his friends. That was what he told Enjolras. That was what Jehan told him. Just a night of hanging out like friends.

So much for that. Enjolras sat quietly in the corner on one of Musichetta's favorite loveseats by himself, stiffly holding the beer bottle Feuilly had shoved at him when he first entered Joly’s flat that evening. Combeferre had sunk down next to him not long after, holding his own cocktail glass, and Grantaire watched them out of the corner of his eye as Bahorel and Courfeyrac insisted everyone take a shot.

"Here, you have to join in!" Bossuet said, shoving the shot glass at Grantaire and taking one for himself and Musichetta. Even Combeferre and Marius joined in, Cosette not far behind. Only Joly, huddled in his blankets on the couch, and Enjolras holding his untouched beer, stayed in the front room, avoiding the alcohol.

Grantaire pursed his lips before tossing back whatever witchcraft Jehan had poured into the glasses, wincing despite his alcohol history. He didn't particularly feel like drinking too much, and when Éponine and Bahorel got in an argument about what movie to watch that night Grantaire moved to sit at Jehan's feet, feeling Musichetta comb her long fingers through his hair. The couch directly in front of the tv set wasn't exactly the best place to sit, being so close to the light and noise, but he thought it might be weird to take the once again empty spot next to Enjolras.

Instead he struggled to pull his phone from his back pocket as the opening strains of American Psycho began, accompanied by cheers. Grantaire opened his text messages and glanced at Enjolras in the corner before typing.

_R: hey you ok over there?_

He saw Enjolras jump a little as his phone vibrated.

_Enj: Yes. I'm sorry, I just_

_Enj: I've had quite a day._

_R: how so?_

_Enj: Well, I finally got back that essay I had to rewrite._

_R: uh-huh?_

_Enj: I've just felt down all day. It doesn't matter._

_R: i take it you didn't do very well?_

He watched Enjolras purse his lips and turn off his phone. He glanced briefly at Grantaire before shrugging and staring with glazed eyes at the screen.

Grantaire waited for him to look back before mouthing _anything I can do?_ Enjolras shook his head minutely, blonde hair falling into his eyes.

Grantaire attempted to focus into the action on screen, frowning to himself.

It wasn't ten minutes before, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Enjolras stand carefully, as if trying to avoid notice. It didn't work.

"Where are you going?" Courfeyrac pouted from across the room. "You'll love this movie, just pay attention."

"Sorry, I have a headache," Enjolras sighed. "I'm just going into the kitchen."

"Stay in here, you'll feel better."

"I don't want to, okay?" Enjolras grumbled. "I'm tired, is all. Have fun."

He left for the kitchen at the front of the apartment, ignoring the feeble protests shot after him.

Focusing back in on the movie as everyone resettled, Grantaire opened his messages again.

_R: are you sure?_

_Enj: I really am just tired, and I'm not in the mood for one of Courfeyrac's booze and weird movie parties. Just enjoy yourself, I'm going to sit in here and_

_Enj: ... drink some water? I don't know, I'll be fine. Watch your movie._

Grantaire sighed and put away the phone, swiping Jehan's beer from his pretty little hands and bringing it to his lips.

"Is Enjolras okay?" Grantaire heard Cosette ask softly.

"I don't know," Combeferre whispered back, presumably sitting behind Grantaire and talking quietly so as not to disturb the movie. "He was fine earlier."

"He's just being his usual self, with a stick up his ass," Éponine snapped, a little louder than necessary. "Ignore it."

"Be nice. Maybe he really is tired," Combeferre said.

"Yeah, or maybe he really is just an uptight snot that can't have fun."

Cosette giggled a little. Grantaire tried to turn around to get a look at them, but Musichetta's hands resumed their work in his hair, stilling him.

"You don't know him that well, he's always been like that," Jehan chimed in from above Grantaire.

"Yeah. Always "tired" or "working" or "busy" whenever we're going out to a club, or a party," Courfeyrac snorted. "I mean, lighten up."

"He can't even let his guard down for one night," Bossuet said next. Grantaire felt heat rising in his cheeks, his ears and neck. He shifted uncomfortably.

"Oh that's going a little too far, don't you think?" Marius asked from his position wrapped around Cosette.

"No, actually, you've got a point," Combeferre said, no longer whispering. "In all the years I've known him, he's never once wanted to party or have fun, or anything."

"It inhuman," Bahorel grunted. "I've never known anyone so stoic as him."

"Stoic my ass, you mean unexciting," Éponine shot back.

"No, he just doesn't have a sense of humor, is all. He doesn't even let us joke around at the Musain," Jehan said, stroking Grantaire’s curls softly.

"Maybe he just needs to get laid," Musichetta laughed.

Grantaire batted her hand and Jehan's arm away as he turned around, glaring at the rest of them. "Shouldn't we be watching the movie instead of talking about someone behind their back?"

"Oh, come on, it's just a little fun," said Feuilly.

"Well, it's not very funny," Grantaire grumbled.

"Please, since when do you care whatever shit anyone has to say about him?"

"Yeah. And out of all of us I'd think you would have the least problem, seeing as how you two can't even glance at each other without fighting," Joly said.

Grantaire’s palms grew sweaty, his head pounded like it did when he was boxing, familiar spots popping in his vision as blood rushed to his head.

"Actually, no," he said, shifting away from the couch. "I realize he and I haven't always had the cleanest history, but that's strictly work. Politics. You all know that; we can disagree without being enemies," he snapped.

"R, I'm sure if it really bothered him he would say something," Jehan said calmly. "We all joke about each other like this, everyone gets it."

"Yeah, well, maybe not everyone. This- this is... personal. You're being unfair to him." Grantaire suddenly thought about Enjolras crying, all alone on his couch, and a new surge of fervor overcame him. "He's not been feeling great lately, if any of you cared to notice, and he didn't want to be here at all until you absolutely _begged_ him to come. He actually hates parties, yeah, and he doesn't drink, but that doesn't mean it's okay to openly mock him for it."

Pausing to take a breath, Grantaire suddenly realized he had commandeered Enjolras’ position atop the soapbox, speechifying in front of eleven faces staring back at him in varying degrees of shock. His eyes shifted up to the doorway at the other end of the room - the kitchen, he realized fleetingly - only to settle on none other than Enjolras, standing in the doorway, eyes wide and hands protectively clutching the front of his shirt.

"Shit," Grantaire whispered, getting off the floor and jogging to the kitchen. Silence remained behind him, punctuated only by the sounds of the television.

By the time he got there, Enjolras had already retreated further in, hunched over the kitchen sink. He turned his head slightly from the doorway, his entire body trembling, and Grantaire wasn't sure how to approach him.

"I'm so sorry, Enj, I didn't know you were-" he stopped talking.

Enjolras' shoulders shook slightly.

"Are you crying?"

"No," Enjolras said thickly, wiping his sleeve across his face.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't know you were listening, I tried to stop them and-" Grantaire swallowed. "I'm sorry I upset you."

"You didn't upset me," Enjolras whispered, turning away and continuing to wipe at his eyes.

Grantaire stepped closer to his tall, thin frame. "Do you want to go home?"

"Yes!" Enjolras hiccuped, turning suddenly and sniffling into his sleeves, trying to hide his red eyes. "Please, just take me home."

"Okay, I-"

"Enjolras?"

Grantaire whipped his head around, seeing Combeferre and Joly awkwardly standing at the door.

"Are you okay in there?"

If Enjolras knew that fresh tears were welling in his pretty blue eyes, he didn't acknowledge them, only bowed his head. "I'm going home, I'm tired," he muttered, pushing past Grantaire and the two doctors.

"Enjolras, look, we're sorry," Courfeyrac said out in the living room, smiling a little as the rest of them sat by hesitantly. "If we'd known you'd mind all that much we wouldn't have- whoa, are you okay?" he asked, suddenly recoiling at the look on the blonde's face.

"C'mon," Grantaire interrupted, grabbing Enjolras’ red coat off the hook by the front door, ignoring the strange looks he was getting. "I'm taking him home."

"You don't have to leave, he said he was sorry," Éponine grumbled. "Why do you have to-"

Even she stopped at the look Grantaire gave her, wrenching open the front door.

"Do you want me to take you?" Combeferre asked, frowning in confusion as Grantaire guided Enjolras out.

"Goodnight," Grantaire said sharply, drawing the door closed behind them.

He helped Enjolras into the beat up little car outside the building, handing in his jacket before jogging around to the driver's side of the car.

Lights blurred past the windows, and they were nearly to the other apartment building when Grantaire finally had the courage to ask.

Enjolras only sat quietly for a moment before answering in a hollow voice, "I heard everything, Grantaire."

The artist only bit his lip and turned his eyes back to the road, hands firm on the steering wheel.

*

"I'll- be in the shower," was all Enjolras said when they entered his flat, and just like that he was locked away in the bathroom, leaving Grantaire to hover awkwardly in the apartment.

"Should I- wait?" Grantaire asked pointlessly as the door slammed.

He stood there for a couple seconds in the dark hallway, and turned back to flick on the lights, illuminating the darkest corners of Enjolras’ home.

If, three weeks and two days ago someone had told Grantaire he would be wandering alone in Enjolras' apartment while the latter most likely cried to himself in the bathtub, he would have laughed. Even now, he felt a little like laughing at the most not-funny thing to happen all day, simply because he had no idea what to do.

Right. What did he do when he himself was depressed? he wondered. The light he turned on in the kitchen flickered momentarily before steadying. Maybe food of some kind? Yes, food always was a good idea. And alcohol, definitely - not too much, as he had learned over the years, but just enough to take the edge off. And certainly not something to make a habit of. He'd have to tell Enjolras that...

Grantaire opened a few cupboards, grabbing a bottle of surprisingly nice wine and a juice glass. _And he probably hasn't eaten today,_ Grantaire thought, pulling some assorted fruit from the bottom drawers of the fridge. Through the walls he could hear water rushing in the pipes, a comforting background noise, but other than that there was no obvious crying or shouting to be heard. A good sign.

He was dicing some melon and apples up by the time the water turned off in the bathroom. Enjolras, however, made no move to come back to the main apartment, and even Grantaire knew they were not yet at a level where he could barge in on Enjolras’ shower.

Instead he piled the fruit in a bowl from the cabinet, taking it into the bedroom with the wine and some tissues, a lovely collection of the blonde's favorite books pulled from the shelves, a few dumb humour movies and one serious one, and the small stash of chocolate he found in the silverware drawer. Grantaire looked at the arrangement on Enjolras' bedside table, admiring his handiwork. A fair care package for a blue night at home- now if he only had something for his headache...

Grantaire wandered back to the kitchen, shuffling open drawers filled with tea towels and spoons and cling film until he met a handle with resistance. A few tugs later he was rewarded by the drawer slowly, ever so slowly creaking open to reveal... a lot of bottles. A shit ton of bottles, the little plastic kinds from the pharmacy, some holding capsules of all different sizes and colors and shapes, others empty and rolling around on their sides.

Grantaire picked up a few, biting the inside of his cheek as he read the labels, and when he finally grabbed the correct bottle he felt a tinge of sadness, a brief longing for something he didn't know. He couldn't say in that moment what he felt.

Right. Back to the bedroom.

Grantaire had already pulled a pair of soft sweatpants and a t-shirt from the bureau against the far wall by the time Enjolras opened the bathroom door. He paused briefly at the threshold of his bedroom, giving Grantaire a long look while the artist tried to look anywhere except the water still running in little droplets down the plane of his chest.

"Sorry, I forgot to get clothes," Enjolras mumbled, rearranging the towel around his waist.

"Uh, here." Grantaire held out the pajamas. "Sorry I went through your drawers, I just figured you didn't have anything."

"Thanks." Enjolras took them, smoothing back his wet hair, already starting to curl again.

"I'll- let you get dressed."

Grantaire waited outside the door until Enjolras reopened it, pulling his hair back with a red ribbon, sweatpants hanging low off his hips.

"Can I come in?" He smiled at the way Enjolras’ left shoulder stuck out through the stretched collar.

"Mm-hmm."

Enjolras tied a swift knot with the ribbon while Grantaire followed him back into the room. "I got some stuff together for you. A little care package, if you want it."

Enjolras laughed lightly as he looked over the collection on the table. "Thank you. Really, Grantaire, thank you."

"Don't worry about it." Grantaire shifted his weight to rest into his left hip. "Do you want me to go?"

"No, no," Enjolras sighed, sinking down onto his bed. "I'm sorry- would you mind staying?"

"Of course not, anything." Grantaire carefully sat on the opposite end of the bed.

"Thank you. I'm sorry, this is all just- strange to me." He sighed and tucked his long legs up underneath himself.

"What do you mean?"

"Having a friend when I'm like this. It's..."

"Vulnerable?"

"Yeah." Enjolras cleared his throat. "But thank you anyway."

"C'mon, lay down. I'll put on a movie for you." Enjolras smiled and crawled under the blankets, tugging the thick comforter up to his chin. "What do you want to watch?"

"Have you ever seen _French Kiss_?"

"You giant sap."

The movie began with the polite _ding_ of an airplane.

"Come. Sit." Enjolras patted the mattress next to him, and after hesitating a moment Grantaire took the spot. "Here." The blonde lifted the blankets, waiting for Grantaire to kick off his heavy boots before tucking him in.

By the time Meg Ryan was crying in front of the Arc de Triomphe on screen, Enjolras had furrowed himself into Grantaire's side, eyes half lidded.

"Are you tired down there?" Grantaire whispered.

"No, my head hurts."

"Ah, here." Grantaire stretched over to reach the pills and wine, handing a little of each to the blonde.

"You're not supposed to take these with alcohol."

"Once won't hurt you. And you could use it after tonight."

"Mm," Enjolras hummed, raising the bottle to his mouth before passing it to Grantaire.

They allowed a few moments to pass, the action on screen adding a comforting background noise before Enjolras twisted to look up at Grantaire, his pale eyelashes shading his pretty blue eyes.

Grantaire was actually stupid enough to smile down at him. "What?"

"Will you put your arm around me?"

"Huh?"

Enjolras turned back to the screen, an angelic blush dusting his cheeks. "Just put your arm around me? I mean, I read that skin contact is comforting. Please?"

Grantaire sat stiffly, blinking, and quickly pulled Enjolras closer until he was almost sitting in his lap, curling his arms around him and nuzzling into those soft curls.

And by the time the end credits were rolling, they had fallen asleep curled together.

*

So apparently neither sunlight nor Enjolras’ blaring alarm clock was enough to cajole Grantaire back to the land on the living the next morning, he quickly discovered, when only the squirming body almost fully underneath him caused his eyes to open.

The discomfort of sleeping in jeans while cuddling another person quickly caught up to him as he pulled away from Enjolras who, as it turned out, was not awake and simply a fitful sleeper. Grantaire rubbed his eyes and sat up, tugging a hand through his tangled, wild hair. The sun was rising, and a cursory glance at the blasted clock told him it was only 9:48 in the morning.

Well, at least Enjolras was not awake yet. He had at least a few minutes to make himself presentable before the blonde woke up, complaining about Grantaire allowing him to sleep "so late". Oh, well- it was Saturday, and Enjolras did not have class on Saturdays.

After standing in the mirror for ten minutes, trying to make it look less like he'd had a crappy one night stand, it was obvious Enjolras was sleeping, and sleeping hard.

He still hadn't had dinner, Grantaire reasoned. There, item one on his list: get some food in Enjolras.

The kitchen was sparkling, as much as Grantaire had expected, but surprisingly low on supplies. It gave the whole place an impersonal, un lived-in feel. No flour or sugar, no fancy cheeses or cutesy napkin rings or cheap placemats in the cupboards. What there was was coffee, and a lot of it. An obvious sign.

The coffee machine worked mercifully quiet, and while it did its business on the counter he pulled the half empty carton of eggs from the fridge and cracked them dilligently into a pan.

And fifteen minutes later he was back in the bedroom, setting breakfast on the table next to the bottle of wine.

He gently rested his hand on Enjolras’ shoulder, shaking him slightly. "Morning sunshine," he teased.

Enjolras grumbled from under a stack of pillows before emerging, and Grantaire’s one mistake was watching him at that moment. He was totally unprepared for those bright blue eyes to blink slowly at him from underneath messy blonde curls, his gaze soft and sleepy and unfocused. Grantaire coughed and looked at his feet quickly.

"'Taire?" Enjolras murmured softly, sitting up and pulling the sheets back over his lap. "You're still here."

"Yeah, we kinda fell asleep. Sorry if-"

"No, no," Enjolras stopped him, rubbing his eyes with his fist like a small child, "I just- I figured you wouldn't want to stay all night."

Grantaire didn't know what to say to that, so instead he gave his most charming smile and said, "Well, I made you breakfast."

Enjolras smiled, although it was much smaller and stiffer than the night before. "You even made coffee." He picked the mug up from the table and sipped it, glad that Grantaire had remembered he only drank black coffee, and asked, "What time is it?"

"Uh, almost half past ten, actually." Grantaire shrugged. "I would have woken you up, but- you just seemed so exhausted."

"Oh. Thanks, I guess." He held the mug tightly in both hands. "Aren't you hungry?"

"Nah, I'm not really a breakfast person. But you need to eat, you haven't had anything since noon yesterday." He crossed to the other side of the bed and perched on the comforter. "Now watch your morning news." He winked quickly at Enjolras, taking the remote and turning the tv to Enjolras’ favorite news channel.

"Did you sleep well?"

Enjolras shrugged. "I guess. I had a weird dream."

"Yeah? What about?" Grantaire shifted a little closer, angling himself towards Enjolras.

"I- don't know. I don't really remember," the blonde mumbled. Grantaire bit his cheek. Enjolras was not a mumbler.

"Okay. Well... what are you up to today?"

"Nothing."

Grantaire watched Enjolras pick through the food on his plate, fork held limply in his left hand. He looked back to the tv and turned up the volume.

The newscaster was signing off by the time Enjolras pushed his plate to the side, only half picked over, coffee mug nearly empty.

"Are you done?" Grantaire asked, rising halfway off the bed.

"Yeah. Sorry, I'm just not hungry right now." Enjolras tugged a hand through his hair, wildly mussing up his bedhead. "But thank you, that was delicious."

"I'm glad." He got up and crossed the bed. "Let me get that-"

"- No, no, I've got it," Enjolras protested as Grantaire took the dirty dishes.

"Shush. Just relax. Can I get you anything?"

"No. Thank you," Enjolras said meekly, leaning back against the pillows once more. Grantaire gave him a fond smile and left the room.

In the kitchen the dishes clinked gently together under the hot, soapy water filling the sink. Grantaire rinsed them slowly, letting the cool water run over his hands and found the places to stack each dish in the immaculate, beige cabinets.

"Okay, what now?" Grantaire breezed back into the room, searching for the remote abandoned somewhere on the bed. "Do you want another movie, or maybe we can go out somewhere--?"

"Actually, I think I just feel like being alone right now," Enjolras interrupted, head turned away from Grantaire. "You can go home, R, I'm fine now. But thank you."

Grantaire frowned and stopped his search, straightening up. "Are you sure? Because it's no trouble-"

"Really, 'Taire, I'm fine. I'm sure you have your own life to deal with; I'll be okay." Enjolras looked over his shoulder and smiled stiffly. "I'll see you later."

"O-kay." Grantaire kicked his boots closer. "If you're sure."

"Thank you."

Grantaire yanked his shoes on and snatched his bag off the floor, along with his coat. "Uh." He paused at the door. "Call me later, okay?"

"I will."

"Promise?"

"I promise. Goodbye, R."

Grantaire could take a hint. "Bye, Enj." He slowly pulled the door shut, his last glance into the room showing him Enjolras staring out the window, morning sunlight turning his hair into a halo above his head.

*

Grantaire had paced and hovered and worried all day in the darkness of his own apartment, wondering- When would Enjolras call? Would he call? Should Grantaire call and check in on him? Was he okay?

By seven o'clock he had made up his mind: one call would not hurt. He'd ask how he felt, if he'd eaten, how he was doing and then leave Enjolras alone.

Those plans quickly evaporated when two calls only unearthed Enjolras’ voicemail, brief and powerful as always. His voice never failed to send chills down Grantaire's spine, even if it was a tedious recording.

He sent a text instead: _everything ok over there?_

And twenty minutes later there was still no answer.

_Fine,_ Grantaire thought to himself. Knowing it to be irrational, he resolved to stop by the blonde's flat. _Just to see how he is. I'll say I was going to the store and stopped by. Just a quick visit._

Ten minutes later, standing in front of Enjolras’ apartment building, his plan seemed a little less solid. Oh, well. It was cold out tonight. He'd say he wanted to know if Enjolras needed anything. He'd say he hadn't heard from him yet. He'd say he was bringing soup. He'd say anything other than _I adore you and love you and want only good things to happen to you so please don't be sad._

Right. Anything but that. He glanced briefly back down the staircase down the hallway behind him before turning back to the front door and knocking determinedly. No answer. He knocked again before fishing his spare key from the depths of his pockets, the one discreetly slipped to him after a meeting a couple weeks before. Just their little secret.

The lock on the door was a little broken, had been for as long as Grantaire had known Enjolras, but he managed to get it open without too much damage or noise.

The silence in the extremely dark apartment did not bode well as he flicked on the light and cautiously called, "Apollo? You home?"

There was no answering shout, perhaps from the shower or a closed bedroom door like he had expected. Fine then. He approached the bedroom, where the door was still shut as he had left it, and gently pried it open.

From the light in the front room Grantaire could make out the shape of Enjolras, laying on his stomach on the bed, still buried beneath mountains of blankets and pillows, exactly as he had left him, except apparently he'd gotten up at some point to close the blood red drapes against the window.

"Enj?" he whispered, leaving his coat and bag by the door. He came closer to the bed. "Are you okay?"

A low grumble was all he got in return. Grantaire gently shook Enjolras’ shoulder. "Enjolras? You awake?"

"No," Enjolras groaned into the pillows, rolling away from Grantaire and burrowing deeper into the sheets.

"Enjolras? Have you been sleeping all day?" Grantaire pulled the blankets back slightly, running his hand soothingly over the blonde's back.

"Who cares?" he mumbled, still laying face down. "Why did you come back?"

All thoughts of excuses flew from his head at the question, and instead he said, "You didn't call me. You said you would."

"Well, I'm sorry," he muttered back. "You'll forgive me for forgetting. I'm tired."

"Have you eaten today?" Grantaire gently ran his hand through that beautiful hair.

"What do you think?"

"Right then." Grantaire cleared his throat. "Come on. Time to get up."

"I don't want to."

"You need to eat something."

"I'm not hungry."

Grantaire sighed. "Fine. Do you want to go back to sleep?"

Enjolras hesitated. "What time is it?"

"Almost eight, Enj."

"Oh."

"Here." Grantaire rolled Enjolras over and helped him to sit up on the edge of the bed. "Why don't you go shower, get dressed, whatever. I'll clean up your room and then you come and meet me in the kitchen, okay?"

"I can clean up, I'm the one who was sleeping for over eighteen hours in here-"

"It's okay, Enj. I can do it. Now run along." Enjolras smiled halfheartedly and stood up from the bed, wincing as he stretched.

Grantaire watched him leave, closing the bathroom door behind him before hunting through the hall closet for a new set of sheets. Unsurprisingly, two out of his three sets were red, the other tricolored. Grantaire chuckled, choosing the latter and heading back to the bedroom.

He was tugging the thick blue comforter back up on the bed by the time Enjolras emerged from the bathroom, the tips of his hair still dripping onto his fresh t-shirt. Grantaire smiled at him and finished tucking in the blankets. "Hey. Feeling any better?"

Enjolras shrugged. "Sure."

"Are you hungry yet?"

"Not really."

"Too bad. Come on, we'll cook together."

In the kitchen Grantaire took over the stove while he set Enjolras tasks to keep him busy: chop vegetables, measure rice, take down plates and forks. The happy popping and cracking of hot oil filled the silence, and Grantaire hummed absentmindedly while Enjolras’ knife rattled against the cutting board.

After, they sat at the rickety table shoved in the corner of the kitchen, eating in companionable silence. Enjolras rested his chin in his palm, staring tiredly at the table, and Grantaire knew he wasn't in the mood to talk anymore.

When Enjolras was finished (he had apparently been hungrier than he thought) Grantaire cleared the plates and took them to the kitchen, again running hot water to clean up.

"Thank you," Enjolras said softly, for what seemed like the hundredth time that day.

"You're welcome. It's good to see you eat." Grantaire frowned to himself, wondering if that was a creepy thing to say, but if Enjolras thought so he didn't say anything. Instead he leaned against the counter, watching Grantaire’s hands with a thousand yard stare.

Eventually they wound up back in the bedroom, where Enjolras smiled and laughed a little to see his patriotic sheets, the drapes thrown open again. "Courfeyrac bought those for me as a joke, you know."

Grantaire laughed, happy to see a little bit of life return to his favorite pair of blue eyes. "I figured you could use a little humor. Lay down, I'll put on another sappy comedy for you."

Grantaire resumed his spot from the previous night next to Enjolras as soon as _Amélie_ began playing.

"It's accurate," he heard Enjolras mumble, staring sadly at the screen.

"What do you mean?" Grantaire asked quietly, sneaking an arm around him again.

"Nothing."

Grantaire bit his lip. "Can you tell me what's wrong?"

"Why would you think something's wrong?" Enjolras sighed, leaning into Grantaire.

"You're not acting like my usual sunshine," Grantaire said without thinking.

"Your what?"

"You've been quiet all day. And you seem sad."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Can you tell me?" Enjolras closed his eyes. "Or should I just leave you alone?" he asked quickly, feeling his stomach drop.

Enjolras still didn't say anything, and Grantaire felt blood rush to his cheeks. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't press-"

"I'm just done," Enjolras interrupted, eyes still closed. "I'm tired of running myself into the ground for nothing, I'm tired of being made fun of. I don't care anymore."

Grantaire could've sworn he stopped breathing as he paused the movie. He sensed Enjolras wasn't done, and so he didn't say anything. Sure enough, a few seconds later Enjolras continued.

"I'm done with it all. I hate being the only one to care, I hate being the one to work the hardest. I'm tired of-" He grappled with his words for a second. "I'm tired," Enjolras said simply. "Some days I just want to lay down and forget and make everyone leave me alone."

Grantaire sat there in silence while Enjolras pulled away from him and burrowed down into his blankets, tucking his face into the pillows.

The silence seemed to grow louder, more pressing the longer Grantaire sat there doing nothing, watching Enjolras hide himself away again.

"Enjolras?" he finally managed to whisper, tentatively resting his hand on the blonde's shoulder. "Apollo?"

A few agonizing minutes later he slowly lay down beside him and pulled him up into his arms, tucking his face into Enjolras' neck in a strange, unhappy version of spooning.

And Enjolras wasn't crying or angry, or irritated or upset. He was... Grantaire couldn't begin to describe it. Enjolras was exhausted.

That was it. For the first time in years of knowing his favorite blonde, Enjolras was exhausted. Drained. Tired. It wasn't exactly something Grantaire had ever associated with Enjolras. Enjolras was fire and passion and justice. Enjolras exhausted was wrong somehow, a scary thing to see. Grantaire hugged him tighter and didn't open his mouth again.

It was hours, years, eons it seemed, before Enjolras finally grew soft and heavy against Grantaire, drifting into a light, fitful sleep. From the moonlight filtering in through the window he could just see that beautiful marble face, his eyebrows knit together, eyes squeezed shut, lips trembling almost like he was whispering to himself in his sleep.

When he was sure Enjolras was asleep enough, Grantaire drew away just enough to extract his phone from his back pocket without jarring his sleeping companion. The bright light almost blinded him so late at night, unyielding and pale blue. He squinted at the screen while opening his text messages again, searching for the old group chat with all of the ABC and friends (read: Marius, Cosette and Éponine). Grantaire debated with himself for a moment. He had made a promise, been entrusted. Could he really betray that? _Yes,_ he thought to himself. _Yes, I can. This is wrong._

At 1:27 they all received a single text message:

_R: we need to talk_

And at 1:27 in the morning Grantaire turned off his phone and curled mercifully back up, settling down to sleep with an angel in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> So I've felt like a giant sludge lump of nothingness all week and Daniel told me I needed to write or draw or get out of the house. So I wrote about Enj feeling like a giant sludge lump of nothingness -_-
> 
> Anyway I hope you still like this series, it shall be coming to a close soon but I'm very much excited with where it is now. Thank you for taking the time to read (I promise happier times are around the corner) and if you did enjoy please leave a comment or kudos, they always encourage me to write! *sounds like an attention whore* Ok, I'll leave now.


End file.
